


The Unbelievable Strength of Patio Chairs

by Deviant



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, OT3, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M, Triad - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:12:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8944915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deviant/pseuds/Deviant
Summary: It's a bit new, having a husband be so into watching his wife makeout with another man.  At least they know what they're doing.
AKA:  The kids are away so Detective and Mrs. Murtaugh will play... with Riggs...Pointless and plotless porn about this lovely triad.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Something about this seems ooc? Hope it's enjoyable despite that.  
> Constructive criticism allowed/encouraged.

Trish ends up straddling Riggs’ lap.  The patio lounge chair holds up surprisingly well underneath them creaking only slightly whenever the weight shifts.  Riggs grips the edge of the chair,  careful not to move too much, but Trish is less cautious above him.  

"Hi there," she whispers with a large smile. 

Trish’s hair falls around Riggs as she leans into him, her mouth soft on his.  They kiss slowly at first until Trish runs her tongue over Riggs bottom lip.  There’s a faint taste of lipstick and acidic wine as he explores her mouth.   

A creaking sound comes from beside them.  Trish breaks the kiss for a second to pull her hair over one shoulder.  Her hair no longer obscuring Roger’s view.  She doesn’t look towards her husband, and something about that lack of eye contact screams of a shared mind or long conversations hammering out exactly what they are okay with. 

Riggs carefully pries a hand away from the chair and slides it over her cheek to cup her head.  _Is this what she likes?  Is this what Roger wants to see?_   Her hips shift over him, her dress bunching up around the tops of her thighs, warm skin heating him through his jeans. 

“Damn…” Murtaugh softly says. 

Trish pulls back, the palm of her hand pushing hard against Riggs’ chest, and smiles down at him.  The hand that had held her face falls down to her hip, squeezing just slightly.  Riggs groans as she grinds against his slight hard-on. 

“Do you want to get off, Martin?” she teases. 

The sound of his heart racing pounds in his ears.  The California heat has never seemed as intense as it does now. 

“I think you broke him,” Roger cuts in. 

“Oh hush,” Trish says, shooting him a small look. 

Riggs chuckles, low and short.  He rolls his head to the side.  His partner is stretched out on his side with his head propped up on his arm looking completely content.  This was new, a husband watching his wife makeout with him. 

A husband being _into_ him. 

“What do you think, Rog?” Riggs quips.  It sounds like his usual nonchalant banter but he’s still trying to figure this, them, out. 

“Oh I think you should definitely get off.” 

“Definitely?” 

“Definitely.” 

“Don’t pressure him, Roger,” Trish offers, but she’s grinning and her hand is stroking up and down Riggs chest. 

Despite Roger’s certain words Riggs doesn’t feel pressured.   

Riggs turns back to Trish, eyebrows drawn. “I think yes,” he says, relaxing underneath her.  She smiles brightly, her hands sliding up to hold his face as she leans in to kiss him.  Her nails scratch gently over his neck as she moves them down his chest until she finds the hem of his Henley and can push her hands up underneath. 

Beside him he can hear Roger moving but it’s impossible to see what he’s doing. 

Trish boldly pinches a nipple and nibbles on his ear.  “Martin… it’s okay to touch.”  He grabs Trish’s hips roughly, his large hands spreading over the ripples of fabric and her soft thighs.     

Trish sits up suddenly, her right leg falling to the ground to steady herself.   

“Baby are you just going to watch or do you want to help?” 

“You seemed like you were holding it down,” Roger says, even as he climbs to his feet.   

Riggs holds his breath as Roger bends over to kiss his wife.  It's hard to believe he's allowed to watch, even after everything they've said to him. 

Roger tugs down the zipper of Trish's dress and pushes down the straps of her dress and bra.  Roger grabs a hold of Rigg’s right hand, guiding it up to Trish’s breast.   

“What did you two have in mind?” Riggs asks once he catches his breath after seeing Roger's hand on his on Trish. 

“What do you want?” Trish asks. 

“Do you want to watch me finger my wife?” Roger asks, a sly smile and eyebrow waggle aimed at Riggs. 

“Yes please,” he says.  He rolls his hips against Trish, watching Roger’s face carefully.  The man looks delighted. 

“Can I give you a handjob, Martin?” Trish whispers, her melodic voice saying his name so intentionally.   

He squeezes her breast and groans out a yes. 

Trish undoes Riggs’ belt and jeans and pushes his boxers down just far enough so that she can free his cock.  Riggs hisses at the contact, gritting his teeth.  The hand he still has on her hips shifts back to squeeze at her ass as Roger steps over the lawn chair to wrap his arms around his wife.  Heat pools and throbs in his body. 

Trish lets go of his dick so that she can reach back for Roger as he  pulls the hem of her dress all the way up to her waist. 

They kiss, flashes of tongue showing and Roger actually groans.  Riggs pulls back a hand to grasp his own dick, tugging slightly as he watches them.  It’s weird switching places and becoming the voyeur.  Somehow he still feels like he’s intruding on a private moment.   

He watches Roger pull her lace panties to the side, his fingers teasing over her curls. 

Trish moans and rolls her hips as fingers disappear inside her.  Looking away seems like the only way to keep himself from cumming at the sight. 

“You like that?” Roger murmurs into Trish’s neck. 

Trish’s hand wraps around Riggs, halting his motion and taking over.  He looks down the length of his body, watching Trish’s hand stroke up and down, and Roger angling his hand to rub his palm over her clit. 

“Fuck,” Riggs grunts, gripping the chair underneath him.  It stopped being comfortable a long time ago, but it’s barely noticeable now that he’s desperately close to orgasming.  He watches the movement of her hand, eyes glued as her fingers tease over the head making him jump underneath her.  When he looks up at his partner he’s a little surprised to see Roger staring at his cock with the same intensity. 

“Oh god,” Trish gasps, her eyes squeezing shut.  The hand that Riggs had on her hip slides closer to Roger’s and he can feel how wet she is as he swipes a thumb over the inside of her thigh.  Muscles flex throughout her pelvis and thighs, and her hand pauses. 

“Don’t stop, baby, keep playing with him,” Roger says.  “Get him off.  Make him cum,” he whispers in his wife’s ear, his goatee teasing the edge of her jaw. 

“Who’s going to get you off?” Riggs asks.  He manages to make eye contact with Roger before he moans at Trish’s renewed efforts. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Roger says. 

“Rog?” 

“Riggs,” Roger warns. 

“Boys!” Trish cuts in.  She’s thrusting her hips against Roger’s hand, her own hand losing any semblance of technique and focusing instead on pumping Riggs’ cock, rough and fast.  “I’m going to… oh god…”  She cums first.  Her hands fly off of Riggs and onto the hand inside of her, trying to pull Roger away from her too sensitive clit.  He pulls away, his fingers visible slick from her, there’s only a brief moment of hesitation and then he’s wrapping his hand around Riggs’ cock. 

Riggs swears.  He bucks under that hand, under Trish’s wetness, and then he’s cumming.  Every muscle in his body clenches and he can feel his own semen splattering his stomach.  When he looks up Roger is pulling away and helping Trish to her feet, her legs still weak from her orgasm. 

It’s an odd sight.  Roger is still fully dressed with an obvious erection tenting his pants.  Trish’s dress is both pulled down and pushed up, and her matching lingerie set is askew.  With his softening dick resting against the fly of his pants, Riggs is still sprawled out on the patio chair. 

“Is now the time,” Riggs says as he starts to sit up, looking for a way to clean himself off, “to start worrying about you and how you’re going to get off?” 

Roger laughs and tosses Riggs a beach towel.  “Say what, if you come upstairs you can see how I’ll get off.” 

Trish hums, a small smile and a head nod towards the door showing her approval. 

The patio chair creaks one last time as Riggs stands and follows them. 


End file.
